The Billionaire's Hotline (Men of the Capital Series Book 1) (3 page)

“No one is studying my voice. I’m not a test subject. I’m a CEO.”

“Congratulations. You must be very proud,” Hannah said slyly. “You’re not getting the phone tonight, and you’re obviously not going to get laid unless you mobilize another disposable tart. So I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you’ll keep talking to me.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he spat reflexively.

He was tempted to go to a diner with her, to keep talking to her, to see if he could win her over and perhaps to convince her to put that luscious mouth on him. She had full lips, bordering on a pout, but a tight, cross expression ruined their sensuality. Jasper thought that, given a chance, he could do away with her look of profound dissatisfaction.

“Okay. I’ll have coffee and you can have water or something healthy like that. Unless you’re afraid of tap water, too.”

“Why would I be afraid of tap water?” he said sourly.

“You acted like I asked you to tip back a mug of battery acid when I mentioned coffee. I assume it’s got additives or carcinogens or some crap like that and you’re afraid to drink it. Live a little.”

“I was trying to, but you took her phone,” he said with a rakish grin. “What kind of coffee do you drink? Isn’t tea better for your vocal chords?”

“Yes,
Mom
. I like coffee. The kind with lots of caffeine and sugar, and whipped cream if I can get it.” She laughed at him.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, equally irritated and aroused by her. This, he supposed, was banter…that snappy nonsense from black and white films that Clare used to go on about. He recalled her perpetual whining that he was a terrible communicator and never engaged with her. Why had he thought of her now? She had been utterly unlike this street urchin with the sexy voice and the fierce opinions. Banter was easy with Hannah Largent because she got a rise out of him.

“I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, all the whipped cream you want, and you can listen to me speak while I convince you to relinquish the phone to its rightful owner.” Jasper dialed up the charm, knowing full well that his smile was warm and showing just the hint of a dimple in his right cheek. Women loved that dimple.

“Sure. I’ll drink free coffee, but you’re not getting the phone. Let’s say it’s in the name of linguistics research.”

Jasper offered her his arm, resisting anxiety about the relative cleanliness of her hand on the light wool of his tailored jacket. Rolling her eyes, she took his arm expertly and they entered a coffee shop as if promenading toward an arch of balloons for their prom picture. Hannah slid into a booth and seized a plastic menu, her eyes voraciously scanning the contents.

“I’ll have the number five,” she announced to the waitress.

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Both, please. And a cup of coffee.” She smiled.

“Cheeky girl,” he muttered. “I’ll have water.”

“Just water?” the waitress inquired.

“Yes, thank you, Charlene,” he said, reading her name tag. The waitress flushed and smiled at him indulgently.

“Thank you.”

“For breakfast at nine thirty at night?”

“For calling me a cheeky girl. It may have been intended as a pejorative, but it’s practically the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”

“Hannah, you’re a mess. That was honest.”

“See, you remembered my name just fine.” Her low voice was triumphant. “I know what I look like. I was mad and I took off without preparation. If I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have charged into the Blake like this. Probably.”

“You seem fairly bold to me.”

“You misread me, then. I spend most of the time in my apartment.”

“That would explain the unnatural paleness.”

“Hush. I’m Vitamin D deficient and I don’t spend time outside. I have a little sound room at home—I do commercial voice overs and movie preview narration. If I can’t sleep, I go do some PowerPoints.”

“Slide shows?”

“I do a ton of PowerPoint narrations. They don’t pay much, but if you do enough of them…” She trailed off.

“I gather you don’t sleep much,” he remarked, sipping his water.

“Sometimes,” she said lightly. “How about you?”

“Five hours a night,” he said proudly. “Then I work out, shower, and I’m at work by seven.”

“Tell me more. I want to hear your voice,” she said and it occurred to him that it was ironic: he would have preferred to listen to hers.

“I started out as a summer intern at a brokerage firm when I was a freshman. I worked my way up, and seven years ago I started my own company. It’s a conglomerate with holdings in transportation, consumer goods, healthcare, and I’m expanding into alternative energy.”

“Total world domination, then? What about you, not just your business?”

“I’m—what, a Virgo?”

“The virgin.” She smiled. “Exacting, obsessed with details, repressed.”

“Hardly,” Jasper retorted.

“Let’s review now: you’re distributing phones, or having someone else do it, so you have a readily accessible pool of attractive women. You don’t have to go looking for them and weed out the undesirables. I’d say that’s exacting and obsessive. I’m guessing you have a type. Judging by my sister as an example: blond, young and pretty. Judging by your comment on my pallor, add tanned and toned onto that description. Nothing outside those parameters gets a phone. Limited, ergo repressed. Am I getting near the bone?”

“Pretty near, but your character assessment leaves something to be desired.” Hannah leaned across the table. His eyes darted to her cleavage, because when she bent forward, he could see down her top. He found the depressingly plain cotton bra sadly predictable.

“Enlighten me.”

“I’m a self-made man. My parents both worked minimum wage jobs and we lived in a rent house. I wanted better, and I was smart enough and worked hard enough to get it.”

“Now you’ll accept nothing less than the very finest, whether it’s shoes, cars or women. Yes?” She leaned back to admit her plate of pancakes and fried breakfast meats, their greasy aroma assaulting his senses.

She tucked into her food with abandon. He had never in his entire adulthood dined with a woman so flagrant about carb consumption. She forked a sausage patty and held it out to him.

“Try it.”

“Will you give me back my phone?”

“Nope.”

“Will you go home with me?”

“Never. Forget it. You don’t deserve my sausage.” She withdrew her offer and bit into the patty vengefully. “Preying on young women naïve enough to think that attraction alone can lead to a relationship.”

“What if they’re women who simply enjoy sex? Women who aren’t looking for a relationship? Your interpretation denies women sexual agency, and is therefore more sexist than mine. I’m a romantic.”

She snorted, nearly choking on a big bite of pancakes. “You? A romantic? No, Becca is a romantic, God help her. You are a cynic using his white-male privilege to acquire and utilize a specific demographic of women like commodities fashioned for your gratification.”

She slammed her syrupy fork on the table for emphasis, and for a moment, he forgot to be insulted. Her fiery demeanor and passionate voice carried him away, and he had a strange impulse to lick the butter off her upper lip. She would taste of salt and sweetness. He took her hand in his, startling her, and raised it to his lips.

“This is the best evening I’ve spent in a very long time, Hannah.”

“Give me back my hand and quit humoring me.”

“I don’t humor anyone. It’s a waste of time, and I abhor inefficiency. I was being honest when I said you were cheeky, and I’m equally sincere when I tell you that I also find you delightful.”

He released her hand and she rubbed it as though he’d scalded her. She pushed her plate way, discomfited; her pale cheeks flushed pink up to the tips of her ears.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” She stood up and headed for the door. Jasper dropped money on the table and tailed her.

“Take my card. You can still hate me, but—”

“I’ll make sure you get your phone,” she said flatly, looking down.

“That’s not what I was going to say. Let me finish, for the sake of linguistics. You can still hate me if you want, but I’d love to know more about you. I like the sound of your voice.”

“I’ll narrate some PowerPoints for you sometime, then,” she said.

“That’s not what I had in mind.” He moved closer to her, practically whispering in her ear. He could feel the tickle of a strand of her dark hair as it brushed his face. “Hannah.”

Jasper said her name low and soft, the way he would if they were lovers and he saw her give a satisfactory shiver. Without looking up, she tore herself away from him and took off down the block, not walking with self-possessed grace, but charging away as if ten devils were after her.

He stared after her, dumbfounded. She was too old—obviously over thirty—and had dark hair and a big mouth. She’d said ‘fuck’ in the most upscale hotel in the city, right to his face. She didn’t think he was charming or impressive. She wouldn’t even comply with the simplest request and she ate disgusting amounts of fried food. She was every sloppy, undisciplined thing he despised…imperious and self-righteous, unkempt and disagreeable. He had to have her.

Miss Hollingford, I need all the information you can find on Hannah Largent. Mid-thirties, does voice overs. ASAP. JC

He sent the e-mail, confident he’d know everything about the woman by ten a.m. tomorrow. Anticipation thrummed through his veins. He couldn’t wait.

Chapter 4

Jasper

              “I have the profile on Hannah Largent. Do you want the file or the highlights?” Miss Hollingford asked Jasper, knowing the answer. He wasn’t going to look up from his computer for anything less than a nuclear blast.

              “Highlights.”

              “She’s thirty-six, born in Pennsylvania, one sister, nine years younger. Double major in audio engineering and linguistics, minor in women’s studies, graduated magna cum fifteen years ago from a state college. Did studio work as a sound engineer in Florida, got married and divorced within a year, moved here. She broke into voice work when someone pulled a no-show on a commercial she was doing the sound board for. The producer asked her to stand in, she did narration and a little singing. It doesn’t pay as well as the engineering, and she still does that on a part-time basis, but she basically switched sides of the board eight years ago.”

              “Tell me about the ex-husband,” he said without looking up from the screen.

              “Alex Largent, two years younger than her, guitarist with a road band.”

              “She still uses his name professionally.”

              “Never changed it back. It’s the name on her checking account and her business.”

              “What business?”

              “Mockingbird Vocal.”

              “Mockingbird? Cute,” he scoffed. “Anything else?”

              “Goes home to Pennsylvania every year at Christmas to see her mom and her grandparents. Usually takes the sister with her. Lives alone, no pets, no major illnesses or hospitalizations. Still has some student loan debt along with the mortgage on her apartment and debt on some sound equipment, and her name’s on her sister’s credit card, probably because the sister has a shit credit rating. No criminal record, nothing remarkable really.”

              “Do you know anything more personal about her?”

              “I talked to the guy at the Asian buffet down the street from her apartment…she lives at Sixth and Elm…she orders in Singapore noodles at least three nights a week. Quiet and sweet, no pets, good tipper. Neighbor said she doesn’t go out much, but she watered his plants for him when he was in Arizona visiting his daughter last year. Now it’s my turn. What do you want with a nice girl like that? Are you not getting enough ass from the phone racket?”

              “She’s not a piece of ass, Miss Hollingford. She got one of the phones off her sister and came to the rendezvous to warn me to stay away from the sister.”

              “So she knew you’re trouble. Girl like that doesn’t need to get mixed up with the likes of you.” She shook her head, one cluck of the tongue short of a disapproving grandmother.

              “I wanted information about her. She has my phone, and I want it back.”

              “They’re throwaway phones. You want in her pants, and it’s the only angle you’ve got.”

              “I will not dignify that supposition with a reply.” He winked.

              “That’s because I’m right about your rotten ass as usual,” she said, her indulgent tone belying her words. “I took number fifteen off the list because when I called her about the awards dinner, she tried to score a dress and started naming designers like she’d memorized the caption copy from
Vogue
. You don’t need the likes of her.”

              “I thought you didn’t approve of my methods.”

              “I don’t, but I’m not about to throw you to the lions. You’re a rich boy who likes pretty girls, but some of them girls got claws you don’t see coming. I have to look out for you.”

              “Miss Hollingford, you deserve a raise.” He grinned.

              “You can’t buy my kind of loyalty,” she said indignantly, secretly pleased.

              “I know, but I can encourage it.”

              “You stopped typing about three minutes ago,” she observed. “You got it bad for this one.”

Jasper looked up as if he’d been caught out and returned swiftly to his work. Miss Hollingford shook her head. This could come to no good, she was sure of it.

              “Do you have her address?”

              “Hell yes, I got her address. I talked to her noodle shop and her neighbor. Do you think I’m an amateur?”

              “Send her flowers. Something colorful. Calla lilies…send her those.”

              “Callas are white.”

              “They come in a deep plummy red. Find some,” he said blithely and ignored her until she left to do his bidding.

              Jasper was Skyping with his satellite office in Tokyo when Miss Hollingford buzzed his phone. It was the first time she’d ever used that particular feature, so he thought it must be important. He excused himself, muted the mic on his computer and answered.